


Bouquet

by canonismybitch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bisexual Michelle Jones, Bisexual Peter Parker, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Flowers, Found Family, How Do I Tag, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, In this house we stan Ned Leeds, Irondad, Language of Flowers, M/M, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Obligatory Skip tags, Pansexual Ned Leeds, Parent Tony Stark, Platonic Soulmates, Precious Ned Leeds, Protective Ned Leeds, Rape/Non-con Elements, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22704700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonismybitch/pseuds/canonismybitch
Summary: In a world where your soul marks are flower buds that bloom once you realize you love a person; eight people's flowers bloom because of one Peter Parker.ORThe Soulmate AU one (1) person asked for.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Ned Leeds/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Comments: 125
Kudos: 511
Collections: Peter Parker's Tales





	1. May

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baloobird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baloobird/gifts).



> Second fic for this fandom! Honestly, I am SO excited to share this with you guys. I've had the idea on my head for quite some time and I've decided to give it a go! Please excuse any grammar mistakes, as English is not my first language, and do leave a comment or a kudos!
> 
> One more thing! This has mentions of Skip Wescott, and while NOTHING is graphic it is there so if you're uncomfortable please do not read.

May’s mark had bloomed when she met her two-month-old nephew. 

Baby Peter Parker had been cozily lazing around on his mother’s arms, smiling at his Auntie with a toothless smile so adorable her heart melted into a pile of mushy goo. It was at that moment that the small bouquet of 5 buds in her right wrist had begun to bloom. Fascinated, May (and everyone in the room) watched as the flowers –no bigger than May’s fingernails– opened their petals into a beautiful red color that grew steadily white towards the center of the blossom. Slowly but surely, the bouquet wrapped itself in what could only be described as a spider web.

Mary and Richard gasped; Ben chuckled amusedly. May cried tears of joy.

Peter giggled, and blew a raspberry.

* * *

When Mary and Richard didn’t come home, Peter comes to live with them. Six-year-old Peter Parker had taken up the spare room in their little apartment; bookcases filled with comic books and chemistry textbooks; the beers on the fridge slowly cleared to make way for apple juice; the shelf on top of the sink crammed in boxes of cereal with so much sugar only Peter could have it for breakfast (and dinner, if he felt like it). 

The living room was more-often-than-not covered in puzzle pieces that their little kid left scattered over the dinner table, the floor and sometimes the couch. May’s bag became a chest filled with treasures that included baby wipes, granola bars, and a surprising collection of toy trains. Ben’s Sundays were spent at the park instead of in front of the TV, and fussing over Peter when he tried to climb a tree because he saw a cat at the top (you may think that this was a one-time thing. It, however, was not).

Peter would come from school with a drawing of the three of them at the park or putting a puzzle together, and he’d grin wide enough to let the sunshine that lived inside him escape for just a bit –enough for May to see it. It was in those moments, miscellaneous as they were, that May really felt her love for her nephew grow inexplicably. At night, after a day of admiring Peter’s drawings and giving them a rightful place on the fridge, May would look at her nephew’s mark on her wrist, to find more blossoms. Over time, they started shifting, slowly forming a flower bracelet along her whole wrist. The charms became little Sweet Williams hanging from spider webs that took the place of what would normally be gold or silver in a normal bracelet. May loved it.

Especially one day, when Peter barrels into her open arms after school, Ben right beside him trying to hide a smile (he really can’t). Her nephew grins at her and shows off his ankle, where the mark that binds her has already formed into a pretty whreat.

“I found out what your flower means, Auntie May!”

She just scoops him up and leads him to the living room of half-way done puzzles, letting her nephew ramble about flower meanings for almost half an hour. It’s not until late that night that May really acknowledges her lilac flowers. 

Humility and charity, huh?

* * *

May’s flowers are wilting. She can see it in the way the red is not as vibrant, and the spiderwebs are opaque, like the ones people see in horror movies; not the ones she’s accustomed to, the webs that look like a cartoon drawing holding together the blossoms that represent her nephew.

She knows that Peter knows she knows. Sees it in the way that he plays with his hands and the way he flinches whenever Ben gets a little too close. Sometimes it’s too obvious with the way he begs them to stay home when it’s date night and he has to be babysat. She and Ben don’t think too much about it, hoping that he just wants his aunt and uncle’s attention.

It becomes apparent that something is  _ really _ wrong when Peter wets the bed one night. After the third time it happens, they sit Peter down to talk. Her little boy squirms in his seat, and eventually tells them that he’s been having nightmares about his mom and dad. Peter has never been a good liar, but the nightmares had been true, and the excuse believable enough that he’s let go with a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

May’s world comes crashing down when one of Peter’s teachers asks May and Ben to meet with her after school, while Peter is in the robotics club (which is really a LEGO’s club, but he’s happy there). At first, May thought that it would have something to do with Peter’s grades, but Mrs. Smith has a much more grim expression than the one some teachers would use to announce one of their students is failing the class.

“Peter is afraid of doing group work with his classmates, says he doesn’t want to make any friends and that he’d rather work alone. Physical contact with his peers is kept to the minimum. I’m concerned that Peter might be abused at home.”

May can’t even talk. Ben can’t either. Not until they get home, not after buying Peter ice cream and telling him that they’re planning on date night for the next day. The look of pure horror their nephew tries to mask is answer enough to his teacher’s concerns. May hugs her Sweet William and doesn’t let him go. Hugs him even tighter when he starts apologizing for being a bad boy, for being  _ dirty _ and for not fighting. 

Steven Wescott runs from home two days after that. May’s flowers never really recover their vibrant red, and she never forgives Wescott for that. Her spider webs stay the same as those of suspense movies, and all the puzzle games disappear from the living room. The locks in Peter’s room also disappear, just like his chemistry set and the DVD player. Just like his bedsheets.

One of the blossoms in her flower-bracelet disappears too. 

(One of the lilacs in Peter’s wreath goes away too.)

* * *

As Ben bleeds out before him, Peter can feel May’s mark on his ankle burning with raw pain, and a part of his brain panics because  _ oh god, May is literally feeling his uncle die _ , but then Peter also panics because  _ his uncle is dying and it’s all his fault _ . 

His uncle takes his hands on his own, effectively preventing Peter from stopping the bleeding. He can barely see through his tears and is vaguely reminded of the time in his life when he couldn’t see without his glasses. It’s such an unimportant thing to think about when his uncle is dying in his arms, but Peter can’t help but revolve around the idea that he desperately needs his glasses. 

_ With great power comes great responsibility. _

Ben is clutching at his right forearm, the place where Peter knows May’s mark covers his bicep like a tattoo. He’s tracing it with the pads of his fingers, Peter recognizes the shape of an eight and distinctly remembers their movie nights, the way they’d trace that number unconsciously while they held hands. 

He’s saying goodbye.

His hand falls onto his chest mid-number. His eyes stare at nothing and Peter thinks that maybe it’s a good thing because the ambulance’s lights are so bright that maybe his uncle would’ve been uncomfortable. Then his sobs begin again because that’s such a horrible thing to say, and his uncle would be complaining about the lights if it wasn’t for him.

May meets him at the police station, tear tracks fresh on her cheeks and left hand on her shoulder. 

Peter had always liked Ben’s mark. The arbutus bouquet was held together with a police badge, and the bright orange plant looked almost red most of the time. When he was a kid Peter would often say that they were strawberries. 

His aunt held him as they both cried, and the policeman (one of his uncle’s friends) gave him a hug after Peter had to give a statement, describing his uncle’s killer to the sketch artist, and has to refrain from describing himself.

They get home late, at almost three in the morning. His aunt goes straight to bed, Peter stays up until he’s sure she’s fallen asleep. In only his socks, he sneaks into her room and carefully grabs her right sleeve, dragging it down her shoulder. There, what used to be a bouquet of beautiful arbutus, there’s a bunch of dead stems, so brown they’re almost grey, and the flowers have fallen, the only one still standing missing all of its petals but one. The police badge that once stood proudly holding the flowers together is now hanging precariously from one of the stems and looks so damaged and rusty it gives the impression of dusting away.

Peter closes May’s door and makes his way to his room.

He doesn’t cry. 

The lilacs on his right ankle cry for him. The blossoms –usually a pale lilac that looks as if it was painted with watercolors– are angled down as if sad, looking gray instead of pale purple. Peter really can’t blame them. The glasses that usually lean on the stem of his mark are foggy, the way they usually are when you drink hot tea or coffee and the steam rises to cover your vision. He can’t help but think that it was the way his vision looked when he was crying over Ben. Then lets out a broken chuckle when he remembers lilacs also mean family. He just took his aunt’s family away, what a great soulmate he must be.

So he spends all night sketching out a red and blue suit.

He hopes it’s enough.


	2. Ned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out to be sooooo long! And it was not my fault, blame Ned.  
> Anyways, guys, the support you've shown this fic has blown me away! I am so glad that you've liked it, and that some of you have even looked the flowers up! I hope you like this chapter as much as you did May's!
> 
> Also, warning: This chapter also has a fair bit regarding Skip, if you're not comfortable with that, skip it until the next line break or hit the back button! Mental health always comes first!

Ned Leeds is seven years old, and even at his age (or maybe, because of it), he knows that older kids at school always pick on him because he’s cubby. In fact, he’s learned to live with it. No, it’s not fine; no, he can’t always ignore it, but it’s the circle of school life: if you’re not white or skinny, then you’re a target. It’s just the way things are.

Besides, kids at school don’t really know a lot of insults (the adults in his family don’t really notice that he can listen to them curse when they’re playing Monopoly), and there comes a point in time when being called “tubby” isn’t really that phasing.

Apparently, no-one told Peter that. 

The youngest Parker had been stuck to Ned for the better part of the school year, their love for LEGO’s and the shared genius had made them fast friends. And Peter –scrawny, asthmatic, more-often-than-not sick Peter Parker– doesn’t care for Ned’s weight. Doesn’t bat an eye when he finishes his lunch and looks longingly at the smaller’s half-eaten sandwich.

“C’mon, Ned, have it. I’m full anyways, and my aunt will kill me if I throw it away.”

There’s no malice in his words, no hidden  _ you’ll probably want it because you’re fat _ , it’s just Peter and his big heart, and a peanut butter sandwich. 

Now, if only that sandwich could’ve stayed in his hands long enough to eat it, Ned would be very grateful. Instead, it’s laying innocently on the floor of the cafeteria. And then there’s Samuel, acting very much as if Ned personally wronged him for wanting to have lunch.

“Not like you need it fatty, I’m doing you a favor.” 

And Ned’s resigned himself to being hungry until he gets picked up from school, and doesn’t even deign Sam with an answer, too accustomed to the bullying to actually be anything else other than tired. 

Peter is not.

“Stop bothering Ned, you big meanie!” brownie points for the  _ meanie _ , Peter. Really proud of you.

“It’s no big deal, Pete…”

“But he took your lunch!” 

Ned can only think of the fact that if his mom were here, she’d be pinching Peter’s cheeks until they were tomato-red. Not that this is the best moment to be thinking about that.

“And what are you gonna do, Parker? Get your boyfriend another sandwich?” 

Okay, first of all, they’re seven.

Before he can get a word in, Ned’s interrupted by Peter’s yelp when Sam’s fist gets him square on the nose. And from then on, it’s Peter’s boney frame against Sam’s bulkier one (almost bulky enough to be close to Ned’s own frame, though he’s never told him that). The smaller boy manages to scratch Sam’s arm –which is really all he can do without spiraling right into the arms of an asthma attack– before a teacher comes to separate them.

Of course, they end up in the Principal’s office. Sam’s mom glares at both him and Peter until Ned’s parents hide the both of them from view. Peter’s aunt is still not here, and from Peter’s nervous rambling, she won’t be able to make it until school’s over.

The three of them end up with detention, and Sam’s suspended for two days (after his mom fought the principal because  _ this kid has been bullying my son and if you don’t do anything about that, then I will! _ )

It’s almost time for the last bell of the day to ring, and they’ve all chosen to stay with Peter while his aunt comes to pick him up. They’re on the swings, and Peter’s fidgeting with his hands. Ned is  _ this _ close to shaking his friend by the shoulders in an effort to get him to speak.

“Um… did you, uh, get hurt? When-when we were fighting I mean.” 

It’s in that moment that Ned can only think  _ Gosh, he’s the best friend I’ve ever had _ when his right ankle starts to itch. Peter, on the other hand, is eyeing his wrist so intently it may catch on fire. 

On Ned’s own ankle, the three buds that have been there all his life start to bloom right before his eyes into a vibrant red Sweet William that Ned only recognizes because he’s read entire encyclopedias on flowers. The little bouquet is slowly being wrapped up in what can only be a spider web. If that’s not the coolest soul mark ever, then Ned doesn’t know what it is.

Peter is too busy with his wrist to notice Ned’s ankle. Right there, almost on the exact same place where May has his soul mark, there’s a flourishing bouquet of exactly three beautiful pink flowers. Their petals look to be made of the thinnest fabric, and if Peter could touch them he’s sure they’d turn to dust between his fingers. 

The pistils –while long– are almost unnoticeable and of a light brown color. Perhaps the most mesmerizing aspect of the flowers is the little spots inside the petals, that shine as if liquid gold had been dropped with care using a paintbrush. They shine on the sunlight and glimmer almost as if they had their own light. A ribbon made up of computer cables holds the bouquet together, and a single LEGO piece is attached to the center flower.

In the distance, Ned’s parents and Aunt May cry tears of joy.

* * *

They’re 9 years old when Ned’s Sweet Williams start wilting. The bouquet –that had grown from its original three flowers to almost ten– has turned gray. The usually vibrant red now the color of bricks when they’re old enough to be considered ancient. The petals drop with sadness and the spider webs look ugly and scary.

Peter looks worse than his flowers. Lately, he flinches everytime Ned tries to hug him, doesn’t want to go anywhere alone. One time, there was an accident that involved Peter not wanting to go into the bathroom. It required a change of clothes.

Peter knows Ned is worried. Sees it in the way the Peruvian lilies face him the way sunflowers chase the sun, the golden tints of the petals dull whenever Ned stares at him, and the LEGO piece changes colors from vibrant blue to yellow in an effort to cheer him up.

The truth is, Peter is terrified of Ned. Well, not really terrified of him; rather, terrified of what he might  _ do _ . Ned says that they’re best friends. But, if Skip is right, then friends do  _ stuff _ with each other. Peter doesn’t want to do  _ stuff _ . Especially not with Ned.

One day, Ned corners him by his locker. The last bell of the day just rung, and all Peter wants is to go home, and make most of the day because  _ thank whatever god that today isn’t date night. _

Ned doesn’t even need to say anything. One look has Peter babbling fast enough to give Ned a hard time understanding. He does get one thing pretty clear.

“I don’t really wanna be friends anymore, because friends play with each other and they touch and I don’t wanna do that; and I also don’t wanna keep my door closed because if it’s closed then I have to keep playing.  _ I don’t like to play _ .”

Ned wants to cry. Peter has been crying for the past five minutes. By sheer willpower, he manages to stay where he is and not reach out to engulf Peter in the biggest hug possible. His best friend is crying silently like he’s afraid. But his fists are balled up, shaking with rage (and fear, so much fear; but Ned can’t know that, not yet, not until years later) that has probably been bottled up for weeks.

“Peter, please look at me.”

Peter does not.

“Peter.”

His best friend keeps crying. A stray kid that has to stay for detention eyes the both of them curiously. Ned pays him no mind.

“Peter, that’s not a thing friends are supposed to do.”

Peter looks up so fast that Ned is mildly concerned for his neck. But his eyes shine with so much emotion that he can’t even begin to describe. (Not until years later, when he can finally give a name to the red eyes and the tears, until he can confidently say that Peter’s eyes were so full of hope, the  _ need _ for Ned’s words to be true. And Ned is  _ so mad _ .)

“It’s not?”

Gosh, his best friend sounds as broken as his voice. It leaves him speechless. The only thing he can do is shake his head.

A week later, he’s there in the Parker’s living room when Peter tells his aunt and uncle the truth. When he apologizes.

He’s also there a month later, when his nightmares wake him up at three in the morning and he’s in Ned’s room. But he doesn’t know that, at first. Not until Ned turns on the lights, and opens the door (and wow, isn’t that something else). 

And then, he can’t stop crying. And Ned’s torn up between hugging his best friend or letting him cry all that he needs to into his favorite throw pillow. Peter makes a choice for him, sobbing into the blankets and irreparably breaking Ned’s heart.

“I told him to  _ stop _ . I really did. He wouldn’t stop.” It’s almost muffled by the blanket and the pillow, but Ned hears enough. 

Seven years later, when Ned looks back at that moment on days when Peter hasn’t texted him that he’s safe from patrol, he thinks that it’s so fucked up that he had to listen to his best friend cry because of sexual abuse when they were both nine years old. It makes his blood boil, and his eyes tear up.

Because there’s something he hasn’t told Peter yet, probably never will.

But he lost a flower that day.

Their soul marks are constantly changing, either color or position, and new flowers appear every now and then. But there’s a space on Ned’s ankle, facing his left leg, void of flowers or spider webs. It has been since that night.

* * *

They’re fourteen when they go to Oscorp on a field trip. At some point, Ned loses his best friend when they walk past a room full of insects. Ned shudders and –in an unusual display of sneakiness– Peter goes inside. 

Ten minutes later, he (magically) appears at Ned’s side, sweating and eyeing the insect room in a way Ned can’t decipher even after all this time. But he doesn’t think much of it; instead, he spends most of the day trying to cheer his best friend up with physics stuff.

Later that night, there’s an itch that won’t go away in his ankle. Panicked, he calls May. Ben answers her phone. Half an hour later, Ned’s pacing outside of the PICU of Queen’s Memorial Hospital; his mother (bless her) tries to calmly sip a cup of coffee to stay awake. He’s not allowed to see Peter, not even because they’re soulmates.

Ned wants to yell  _ bullshit _ , but that probably won’t get him anywhere with the nurses. 

So, he opts for pacing.

After an hour or so, May comes out of the room and lets Ben in. She sits right next to him and gives him a hug (her hugs are nothing like Peter’s, but Ned tries to not think about that). Somehow, it feels like the hug is meant to help her instead of him, but he doesn’t comment, still busy fuming at the doctor that wouldn’t let him in to see Peter.

At some point, he falls asleep.

Then someone’s waking him up. It’s a nurse, though not the one from before.

“He’s awake, if you want to see him.”

Ned, sleepy and stressed as he is, can only answer with a very eloquent “Who?”

Luckily, the nice nurse doesn’t hold it against him.

“Your soulmate? One Peter Parker?”

Ned is out of the –uncomfortable– hospital chair in seconds. The nice nurse (her name tag reads Mara, he’ll probably still call her ‘nice nurse’ in his head) leads him inside and helps him put on the protocolary protection. Before they reach Peter’s room, Ned says

“Not that I’m not really thankful, because I am, but why are you letting me see him?”

Nice nurse smiles at him, but it’s not a happy smile. The implications terrify Ned.

“He’s your soulmate, isn’t he? He needs you as much as you need him.”

Then the door’s opening and Peter is right there, an oxygen mask over his face (that is so horribly pale, one would say he was a kid that had just found their mom’s make-up) and tubes sticking out of his arms, bare to the world. 

Ned’s soul mark is right there, visible on Peter’s wrist. The peruvian lilies that his friend loves to stare at are curled up, their petals somehow tucked onto themselves –and, yeah, Ned kinda feels like hugging himself until all of this passes; doesn’t make it any less weird. The heart monitor by Peter’s hospital bed is beeping softly, and way too slow to be considered even remotely healthy.

But that isn’t what Ned notices when he first steps foot in the room. Nor does he notice May holding Peter’s left hand (clutching, really, but that’s kind of a big word and he’s stressed enough as it is). 

No, how could he possibly notice all that when Peter is smiling at him as if he had hung the glow-in-the-dark stars that lived on his ceiling? It was so blinding, it clashed with the white walls of the hospital room, the bed and the (little) furniture the doctors had placed inside. 

Weirdly enough, the only thing Ned can think about is the fact that Peter’s smile is somehow cuter when his friend isn’t wearing his glasses (then he has to stop himself because, wow, has he ever thought of Peter’s smile like that before?).

Ned makes his way to Peter’s bed, and –following best friend tradition– sits down right next to him. On the bed. When the nice nurse doesn’t move to stop him, he slowly lays down until his head is on Peter’s right shoulder.

And because he’s already being a sap, he takes Peter’s hand on his own, and (completely ignoring the IV) traces the mark on his wrist with his fingers. Even though he can’t see him, Ned can  _ feel _ Peter’s smile.

His ankle still feels itchy and ice-cold, Peter is still on a hospital bed, the heart monitor is still way too slow. Somehow, he still thinks that everything’s going to be alright.

* * *

The day of Ben’s death, Ned loses another flower. He mourns it because he knows Peter never will. 

A voice at the back of his mind tells him that it’s because he’s sad for Peter. Ned ignores the voice.

To this day, he doesn’t know why.

* * *

Peter’s been distant. At first, it had been fine, Ben’s death still too fresh on his friend’s memory. But that had been four months ago. He had dropped out of band, chess, and robotics. Ned was pretty sure that if Liz wasn’t captain of the Decathlon team, Peter would’ve dropped out of that one too. 

So, Ned came up with a plan. A plan that involved his savings and the LEGO Death Star. So far, it had been going well; Peter seemed excited enough when he gave him the news at school, and they had agreed to meet at his apartment.

Then, Ned had been late because he had missed a bus, and when he knocked on the Parkers’ door (all sweaty and out of breath) May had looked at him all sad and told him to wait in Peter’s room.

An hour later, Ned started building the Death Star without Peter.

Half an hour after that, May went out to buy some food.

Ten minutes later, Peter came into his room. Through the window.

Crawling on the freaking  _ ceiling _ .

Then, he took off his mask, and Ned dropped the half-finished Death Star onto the floor.

If it had been any other situation, Peter’s deer-in-the-headlights expression would have been hilarious. As it was, Ned was freaking out over the fact that his best friend was a superhero and  _ hadn’t thought of telling him _ .

He made his emotions very clear.

(Peter kind of made up for it when he made Ned into his Guy in the Chair, but he doesn’t know that.)

* * *

After making a fool of himself (and probably becoming “that boy that watches porn at school” for all of his teachers), Ned sits outside on Midtown’s parking lot, his phone in his hand –that is definitely not shaking, thank you very much– and Happy Hogan’s number dialing for the eleventh time in ten minutes. It’s still voicemail.

And then the mark on his ankle is  _ burning _ in a way Ned has never felt before, and Ned is definitely panicking. He dials Happy’s number again and again (and again and  _ again _ ) because it  _ hurts _ so much, and Peter is in trouble, but Ned can’t help his friend. Because  _ Tony Stark _ took his suit and now he can’t track him, or communicate with him.

And if anything happens to Peter, Ned doesn’t care just how much money Tony Stark has on his bank account, or how many lawyers he throws at him. If something happens to Peter, Ned will  _ end _ the billionaire, and he will make it hurt. (Ned definitely wasn’t expecting that hate towards his childhood hero, but it takes him all of one second to come to terms with the idea. After all, Peter will  _ always _ come before Stark.)

The mark still burns, and Ned doesn’t even know if it’s his own fear, or Peter’s, but his heart is racing and Happy  _ won’t pick up the phone _ . 

The burning stops the next day.

Ned sneaks into Peter’s room using the stairs outside his apartment and climbing through the open window. His wounds are already healing, but there’s a first-aid kit on his nightstand and enough painkillers to kill a child, so Ned is definitely worried. 

Peter doesn’t even look surprised to see Ned (he probably heard him from a block away, the cheater), but apparently his shoulders –or his ribs, Ned’s not sure– protest when he tries to greet Ned. 

His best friend has always been a self-sacrificing idiot.

“Y’know, I told Mr. Harrington I was watching porn when he caught me on the computer. It better have been worth it, dude.”

He almost feels bad for making Peter laugh with bruised ribs. Almost.

The burning stops.

* * *

A month later, it’s Peter sneaking into his room in the middle of the night. The parts of his suit that have not been burnt off are almost completely black, and he’s limping. Ned runs for the first-aid kit.

As it turns out, none of them know how to treat burns, so Peter has to sit on Ned’s floor, in pain, for ten minutes until they can find a decent YouTube tutorial. Peter dry-swallows all of Ned’s painkillers and then passes out on top of a bloody towel.

Next week, Ned signs up for a first-aid course. All of his savings go to a bigger kit and a bunch of painkillers (that he had to buy from different drug stores because the clerk would look at him funny).

It proves useful when Peter’s AI calls his phone two weeks after and tells him that his best friend is passed out in an alley. That’s how Ned finds himself with an armful of superhero and has to drag him through the streets and pass it off as alcohol poisoning. He looks ridiculous in Ned’s pants and hoodie, but they would have to do.

The first-aid course so far had not covered stabbings, so he goes back to YouTube.

Still, no matter how much Ned hates the fact that Peter puts his life on the line every day, he can’t help but notice that Peter’s flowers are a vibrant red, and that he’s gained two new blossoms that slowly but surely expand the mark from its place in his ankle. Now, it’s started to go up his leg.

So Ned sticks with being Peter’s Guy in the Chair. If he can’t stop Peter from risking his life (not that he would try to stop him anyway), then he can at least make sure that he doesn’t die.

* * *

It’s two in the morning and Peter hasn’t checked in with Ned. They have a deal, when Ned can’t help him on patrols, the hero checks in every half an hour so that Ned knows that he’s still alive. Peter’s last message came at 11:37 

**biderman:** still alive and hunting a missing cat

Ned has been trying to contact Karen for the past hour, and he’s  _ this _ close to calling Stark when a notification pops up on his phone and Ned can breathe again. That is, until he reads it.

**biderman:** duuuuuuuuuuuuude, did i evr tell u i have asma?

**biderman:** ashma

**biderman:** astam

**biderman:** ahstma

**biderman:** breathen’t

His best friend was an idiot.

**im_in:** dude, you havent had asthma since the spide bite

**im_in:** yknow, Spider-Man?

Peter types for two minutes straight before giving up and records a message. When Ned opens it, he is (not) surprised to find that Peter recorded himself shushing him for 15 seconds.

His best friend is a concussed idiot.

(Ned definitely wasn’t smiling like an idiot, and the mark on his ankle was definitely  _ not _ tickling him.)

* * *

The moment Peter sneaked out of the bus to go investigate the giant donut, Ned had a bad feeling. Still, when Mr. Harrington freaked out about losing another student, both MJ and Ned covered for Peter. When May asked, he had to tell her the truth. 

They spent the afternoon in the living room, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and distracting themselves with popcorn.

Then, the burning. 

Ned remembered the burning, the same that had terrified him on Homecoming night. A sideways look at May told him that she wasn’t feeling anything. Half a minute later, she started crying.

They both hugged while they felt Peter disappear.

And then they were gone too.

* * *

Five seconds.

Five years.

They returned to a couple watching the news on May’s couch. 

After a brief screaming match, May managed to get her couch back. Two hours later, Ned was back home and dealing with the fact that he had been dead for five years. He called MJ to check in on her and found out that she had been gone too. He called Peter. He called Cindy from decathlon. He called Peter. He even called Flash.

He called Peter.

Peter didn’t answer.

He saw his best friend two weeks later, on their first day back to school. All around the hallway, people were hugging their friends, crying and talking about their home life when they got back.

When Peter met him on their spot by their locker, the first thing Ned did was kiss him.

Peter kissed him back.

* * *

Friendship and devotion.

If anything, the peruvian lilies fit Ned like a glove.


	3. MJ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!!!! So sorry for the long wait, but exams killed me and I didn't have much time to write.  
> Here's MJ's chapter! I hope you like it!!!
> 
> Also: OMG all of your comments give me life, thank you all so much for your kind words in last chapter!

There are facts to life that are unchangeable. One plus one equals two, Pluto deserves to be a planet, the Earth is not flat (and MJ will fight you if you say otherwise), and Peter Parker is a self-sacrificing idiot. 

Of course, she had known that for a long time, but hadn't  _ known _ known. Not until he came through her window on a school night while she was studying for an exam. That wasn’t the surprising part, he visited her often enough. He didn’t usually have a cat wrapped up in a hoodie.

“Parker, what the hell?” 

“Okay, I know what you’re gonna say, but he’s cold! It’ll only be for tonight!”

“How do you expect me to hide a  _ cat _ from my parents?!”

The cat in question mewled softly, and Peter (mask off, suit on) did a melty face that reminded MJ of a golden retriever puppy. No, she would never say that out loud.

“Are you sure  _ you _ don’t wanna take him, Parker? You look pretty happy with the ball of fluff.”

Peter looks longingly at the gray tabby. 

“Well, yeah… but we can’t have animals in the apartment – _ which _ , if you ask me, is pretty dumb.”

When MJ keeps staring at him, Peter grabs the meowing ball of fluff and holds it right in front of him, making a pouty face complete with glassy eyes that was  _ definitely  _ not cute (he also did it as if he totally expected the cat to make the same pouty face –the cat did not). 

_ Gosh, this complete idiot. _

Then, because the universe likes to play with them, MJ’s right hip starts tickling. And at the exact same time, Peter’s hand  _ flies _ to his ear. 

Now, even though she’s pretty sure by now that they’re soulmates, MJ isn’t about to take her pants off just to stare at her hip, so she settles for watching her own mark appear on Queen’s very own superhero. 

The 6 buttons bloom into a beautiful gladiolus, that strangely enough is a pearly white color that  _ shimmers _ as if it produced its own light. A book closes its pages around the flower –that’s now acting as a page mark–, and as the image becomes clearer, MJ can very well distinguish a sketchbook that looks exactly like the one sitting innocently on her desk. 

It’s the sketchbook Peter got her for her birthday. Complete with the black dahlia she doodled on the cover. 

Her cheeks feel numb from her smiling so much –and wow, she hadn’t even realized that she was smiling–. It’s in that moment that Peter focuses back from his zone-out and runs to her mirror, staring intently at his ear. 

It takes all her willpower not to laugh, because he’s still squishing the poor cat with one hand, the other probing at his new mark. 

* * *

Peter’s grinning like an idiot, half an hour later after their big discovery (that really, they should’ve seen coming). It’s that kind of mischievous grin that wouldn’t have really meant much if he wasn’t stroking the poor cat as if he was the Godfather. 

“Spit it out, Parker. That smile is creepy enough without the cat.”

He just laughs at her. The audacity.

“Y’know, Ned’s told me about this flowers. Did you know people call them ‘sword lilies’ too?”

MJ can’t help it, she snorts.

* * *

She keeps the cat. His name is William.

(And she will forever deny naming it after Peter’s flower.)

* * *

They’re on their way to gym class, it’s the last one of the day and in that particular moment MJ  _ hates _ it with all her heart, and it has everything to do with the constant cramps that the painkillers she took an hour ago can’t seem to actually  _ kill _ .

So, yeah. She’s pretty pissed.

She’s pretty sure that’s the reason no one has bothered them on the hallway; frankly, she can’t bring herself to care.

One thing they don’t tell you when you’re taking sex ed is that your uterus hates you, and will use every opportunity to let you know. Including gym class.  _ Especially  _ gym class.

She’s so furious at her own useless body and at gym class for existing that doesn’t really notice that they take a turn to the library, not the gym. 

In fact, she doesn’t notice until the librarian greets them.

“You know the rules you three, if a teacher comes looking I’m  _ not _ covering for you, so you better not get caught.”

She barely registers Ned saluting Ms. Saroyan before Peter is leading her to one of the back tables, the ones people use when they’re studying for finals and don’t want to be bothered (and, apparently, the ones they use when they’re skipping class and don’t want to be found). 

Peter’s constantly scratching at his ear, and Ned is  _ visibly  _ doing everything in his power to not rub at his neck. It takes her a moment to realise that that’s where her mark is. They’ve been subject to her foul mood for the better part of the school day, and she’s just noticed.

Just this once, she’s blaming her uterus.

But Peter’s handing her a warm thermos with chamomile tea (and later, she will wonder where he got it from, much later), and her head is on Ned’s lap; she’s curled up and there’s a bunch of hoodies –two, but who’s counting– on top of her, and she’s so  _ warm _ .

She wakes up when the bell rings. The marks on her hip and her shoulder tickle.

It’s a good day.

* * *

William is 5 years older.

Surprisingly, it’s the fact that she lost five years with her cat that makes her feel incredibly overwhelmed.

Of course, it’s also the fact that she lost five years with everyone else. Five years of her life, gone in the literal blink of an eye. But she can’t bring herself to think about that, so she focuses on her cat.

MJ is incredibly grateful to whatever is out there that her parents didn’t get dusted, because they took care of William for her. A part of her feels horrible for that thought, another part is just happy to cuddle her cat at three in the morning when she can’t sleep.

It helps that she can’t get much sleep at night when Peter and Ned can’t sleep either. They don’t even need to ask if the other is awake. The feeling of helplessness in the middle of the night is enough.

One thing’s for sure, though: no one asks Peter anything about that day. Especially not on Wednesdays.

Those are his  _ Tony days _ . When Pepper lets him take her place by Tony’s bedside and grasp his hand for the whole night, waiting for the day when his body heals enough for him to wake up.

Wednesdays are hard. 

It’s enough of a fact that when the pure feeling of  _ desperation _ coursing through her at two in the morning it isn’t really a surprise. It’s not welcome, but not a surprise.

(And isn’t that fucked up?)

What  _ is _ surprising, is that Peter calls her first.

_ “Hey.” _

_ “Hey, are you okay?” _

Almost immediately, she wants to kick herself.

Peter kinda does when he laughs at her. Though it’s so sad she doubts it could be considered a laugh.

_ “His eyelids fluttered for a second. I thought he was waking up, I thought-”  _

His sobs drown out the rest of his sentence, but she doesn’t need to fill-in the blanks.

When their call ends, thirty-six minutes later, it’s because MJ hangs up after Peter passes out from exhaustion. 

* * *

In any bouquet, it’s pretty obvious when there’s a blank spot. A very visible place where a flower fits  _ just right _ , but for some reason it’s not there. 

There are two spots on her hip that look so empty it hurts. (Three, if you count the blossom that’s missing half of its petals.) The day she got her soul mark, two of those spots already existed, appeared even before she spoke to Peter for the first time. 

One, however, she saw appear. It came to be the day they all got snapped back into life. MJ would never say it, but it took her one whole day to notice the void. She has yet to ask Peter about it, but she doesn’t have to.

Both Ned and her saw the pictures of the Compound after their last battle. The broken ground that looked like the aftermath of an earthquake; mud and water flooding everything; scorched sites and huge craters.

Peter’s let loose some things about their fight on space. The orange sky that almost looked red; the dryness of the soil, the difference in gravity – _ I don’t think I’ve ever loved physics more than I did that day, seriously! _ . 

They also know what Peter hasn’t told them. Like the fact that his body is incredibly fast when healing, or that he had already had a fear of heights after Washington, and that space was much much higher than that. They knew about Peter’s way of strategizing with sci-fi movies, and that he couldn’t watch  _ Alien _ without looking away.

They knew exactly why they lost a flower that day; and at the same time, they know nothing.

* * *

Peter’s incredibly excited for their trip to Europe. He’s been flooding her inbox with countless plans to take Ned to the Eiffel Tower, and to take him out to every restaurant he can afford. Knows about the necklace he’s planning to buy for him.

She calls him a dork.

In reality? A part of her wished that she was Ned. 

(But she’s not Ned. She’s MJ, and that’s okay too. She doesn’t need to be Ned.)

[She doesn’t know that.]

* * *

When she sees the two together, sometimes MJ wishes that she was Peter too. The thought scares her.

She doesn’t know why.

* * *

Peter takes both Ned and her out to dinner, their first day in Venice. 

On their second day, there’s a monster made out of  _ water _ and she can’t really cope with that thought, so she lets Ned lead her out of the way and into a safe place with their group. Their teachers are freaking out, frantically counting their students and then counting them again. 

“Jones! Leeds! Where’s Parker?”

They can’t answer them with the truth, so they pretend to be looking for him too (their worry is real though). Their marks curl onto themselves, and they can’t tell if Peter’s afraid or just plain confused, because how the hell is he supposed to fight a water monster ( _ a water monster)  _ using spider webs? 

Then, the freaking water is right in front of them, and there’s someone on the roof, wearing a carnival mask ( _ really,  _ Peter?) and shooting webs frantically at a  _ water _ monster. So this is the way they die. 

[ _ Again _ , her mind supplies. She shuts it up.]

Just when they’re all pretty sure that drowning is the only possible outcome, a guy wearing a cape and a fishbowl saves the day. The worst part is, that’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to MJ. 

The guy literally  _ shoos _ the water monster away with some green mist and then turns around as if he was Tony Stark those first days after becoming Iron Man, and the guy  _ bows _ . Then proceeds to fly away, because of course he does.

Exactly one minute later (because he didn’t plan it, who told you that?) Peter made his way to their group, dripping wet and out of breath. To be honest, MJ was surprised he had remembered to lose the carnival mask. 

“I’m so so so sorry Mr. Harrington, I lost you guys when this old lady fell and she couldn’t run, and I  _ had _ to help her, and then I stayed with her until the huge water thingy went away and oh god I’m so sorry.” 

Could people speak in run-on-sentences? 

Apparently.

Mr. Harrington just sighed and told Peter not to do it again, and the whole group followed their teachers to the hotel.

For a moment, everything was fine. There was no more water monster (she really needed to stop saying that) and they could go on with their trip to Europe; she could take the two nerds out for lunch and watch them be dorks and feed each other french fries.

So obviously, the next morning Ned tells her that he woke up (and he didn’t remember going to sleep) to Peter’s empty bed. The idiot had come in via the window ten minutes later and dropped the “Nick Fury wants me to fight a bunch of element monster thingies with Fishbowl guy from yesterday and I didn’t even bring my suit.”

Of course they had to watch their best friend fight a bunch of weird stuff on their vacation.

Of course.

* * *

The next two weeks were a blur, but she could distinctly remember Peter waking Ned and her up one night, almost at two in the morning. He was frantic, closing the windows and the curtains of the hotel room; giving them Happy’s number for emergencies; making them  _ swear _ that they’d be safe.

Then he’s kissing Ned goodbye.

And he kisses her goodbye too.

She’s too stunned to return the kiss, and by the time she comes to terms with the fact that  _ her crush just kissed her in front of his boyfriend _ Peter’s already gone.

She’s too afraid to look Ned in the eye.

“Sooo... we had talked about this, but I didn’t think he’d do it right now. Are you okay with this, MJ?”

Wait,  _ what? _

“Wait, you are? The two of you?”

Ned had the audacity to laugh.

“Well, yeah. It was kinda my idea, actually. You’re not mad, are you? Because it’s totally fine if you don’t want to be with the both of us, we’d understand-”

She silences him with a kiss, as cheesy as it sounds.

She gets another bloom that day.

So do the other two.

* * *

They don’t see Peter until a week later. What strikes her first is the new suit, kind of similar to the first one Tony gave him all those years ago (two and five and so little and so many), but with his own  _ Peterness _ to it. 

Then they notice the bruises, the paleness of his skin and the gashes that cover every visible part of his body. He looks skinnier than he should, and his eyes go back and forth searching for things that aren’t there. It reminds her of the days after the snap, when Peter kept touching everything he could –people especially– to make sure that they weren’t turning to dust again.

MJ couldn’t confront him though, neither could Ned for that matter, because Peter left  _ Happy freaking Hogan  _ to babysit them (and Flash, the idiot) while Peter went and stopped the big bad on his own.

A big bad that fought with illusions and killer drones, apparently.

Of course, they weren’t safe either, not when said killer drones went after them and into the museum. The barricade they had made was not going to hold for long, and they had nowhere else to run; so they either fought the things that would most definitely fight them back, or they counted on Peter to save the day.

Turns out that both options were correct.

Peter had saved them again, just after they had decided to fight for their lives.

Still, Peter wasn’t happy, not even relieved. Their Sweet William wilted, its petals a brown color that wanted desperately to be red. The spider webs weren’t even holding the flowers anymore. They had never seen their mark that way.

* * *

MJ was staying over at Peter’s after their stunt in Europe, most of the time it was her and Ned with Peter, but their boyfriend ( _ their _ boyfriend) had catched a cold last night and wasn’t up to their nightly Mario Kart tournaments.

At two in the morning, Peter woke up.

He was kicking and screaming, slapping empty air (but it wasn’t empty, not for him) and shooting webs at everything. 

To be honest, it scared MJ. Still, she stood up, and backed into a corner until Peter calmed down.

Until he started crying, head cradled in his hands and sobs raking his body. She went to take his wrists on her hands, and didn’t even make it before he flinched away from her.

“Don’t touch me! You’re not real, you’re  _ not real _ , you’re not-”

“Peter, Peter please look at me.”

He shook his head, curling up even more into himself.

“Sunshine, you’ve got to. It’s me, it’s MJ. I’m real, sunshine, but I need you to  _ see _ .”

Peter closed his eyes tighter than before, tears rolled down his cheeks.

“No, it’s just a trick. You can’t do this to me anymore, Beck; I won’t fall for it. I won’t.”

So MJ came up with a plan.

“Peter, it’s MJ. Let me prove it to you, okay?”

Her sweet flower didn’t move.

“Remember the night we realized that we were soulmates? You came to me at midnight on a school night, and you had a little cat on your arms; and you were holding him right in front of your dorky face while you pouted. You pout exactly like a golden retriever puppy, and it’s frankly frightening, Parker.”

Peter uncoiled little by little, MJ counted that as a win.

“And you pouted as if you believed with your whole heart that the cat was going to do the  _ exact same thing, _ and all I could think of was that I loved the idiot in front of me,  _ so much _ .”

In spite of himself, Peter let out a laugh amongst his quiet sobs. William pawed at his legs.

“And  _ then _ , you ran to my mirror to look at your mark, and you were  _ so excited _ , sunshine, that you forgot that the cat was literally on your ams. And that day, after you went home and left me with a fuzzball to take care of, I looked at my mark for  _ ages _ , and I named the cat after you. That’s one of the happiest moments of my life, Peter. It’s me, and you’re safe. Could you please look at me?”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her the biggest hug ever. He didn’t let her go even when William meowed for their attention; didn’t let go when he fell asleep again. 

Not once did he look at her.

* * *

Peter liked to remind her that her flower meant strength of character. Once, he had drawn her dressed as an Amazon.

It had been the ugliest, and most beautiful sketch she had ever seen in her entire life.

Ned gave her bookmarks made of pressed flowers. Each one had a single gladiolus carefully pressed and laminated.

She had 47 bookmarks.

MJ stood up for herself, argued with anyone that went against her beliefs, and she  _ won. _ She stood up for her boyfriends (her  _ boyfriends _ ) when they got called names. She stood up for them.

She also let other people stand up for her. Let Peter and Ned walk her to the subway (because it wasn’t just to spend time with her, it was to keep her  _ safe _ ) and she was incredibly grateful. Accepted the chocolates and coloring pencils that they left on her locker; posed for every picture Peter wanted to take of her. 

Let herself be hugged at night when she couldn’t sleep. 

Let herself cry after she had a nightmare.

Let herself hug her cat for comfort.

Strength of character.

MJ let herself be strong.


	4. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie this is long. So sorry for the wait! Online classes kicked my ass, but I'm back!  
> Credits for the wonderful baloobird for giving me a bunch of ideas for this chapter!

They were spending the day at the lab, their way to say goodbye to Peter’s Spring Break and their unending hours tinkering with stuff and playing with Dum-E. Tony is elbow deep in the Iron Man armor, humming to what he later recognizes as a song from Peter’s playlist; he’s mid-turn so he can reach the screwdriver when he feels a certain curly hair on his bare shoulder. A quick glance shows Peter leaning his head and making himself comfortable on the crook of Tony’s neck. 

“You comfy, kid?” he asks the spider-baby, half expecting Peter to stutter an apology and make his way back to the web fluid brewing like a potion on the other corner of the lab. Instead, the kid just murmurs in confirmation and wraps his arms around his mentor. The position is awkward, Tony’s arms still inside the armor and Peter half-sitting on the lab table to reach the man. It’s still one of the best hugs Tony’s ever gotten.

“Not that I don’t love your hugs, but what brought this on, Pete?”

His intern just shrugs, before shimming into a more comfortable position (and very much resembling a koala, not that Tony will ever admit that) against the hero.

“Dunno, I just really wanted a hug.” 

The kid is  _ so  _ pure, Tony might die right there. In fact, he  _ would _ have died if that hadn’t meant he would have had to drop Peter (and  _ that _ would’ve meant that the kid would stop hugging him and he didn’t want that). Instead, he takes one of his arms out from his armor to return the hug. 

The spider-baby actually  _ purrs _ .

And,  _ Thor _ , does Tony love this kid.

(Does Tony love  _ his _ kid.)

There’s a scratchy feeling on his forearm, and for a second he thinks that Peter’s curls are brushing against it, but then his kid ( _ his _ kid) is scratching at his neck, and before the kid’s hand covers it completely, Tony catches a flower blooming on his skin. 

Fast as lightning, Tony separates from his kid, and stares transfixed as the bud on his forearm slowly but surely blooms into a pretty red flower; then there’s another one, and another one blooming all around until there’s five flowers that are being bound together by a spider web (and isn’t that fitting?). Tony is broken from his musings when Peter stumbles to the closest lab table and watches his reflection on the shiny metal, reminding Tony vaguely of Narcissus –only that the picture is not fitting at all, Peter and selfishness just don’t mix.

His kid’s hand is hovering over the blooming white tulip, as if a single touch would make it disappear (he’s  _ so _ pure). There are three little tulips on Peter’s neck, the stems peeking out from a shape he distinctly recognises as the arc reactor that used to be on his chest. The petals are white, and they shine as if there was a star hidden behind of each little bloom. Or as if there was a miniature sun that shone from inside Peter onto the outside through the flower. They sparkle like glitter, and they are beautiful.

But Tony’s seen his mark before, on Rhodey’s wrist and on Pepper’s hip. He knows his mark like he knows Rhodey’s chrysanthemum, a constant reminder on each of Tony’s fingers that his best friend will not hesitate to punch him if he does something stupid. Tony knows his mark like Pepper’s astilbe on his shoulder, the promise that someone loves him right there marked on his skin.

Peter didn’t know Tony’s mark. His eyes shine just like the tulips on his neck, and Tony thinks that it’s stupid that people say brown eyes are dull or boring, because the must’ve never seen his kid’s eyes. They are shining like a pool of liquid chocolate, like the dots that appear on his vision when Tony closes his eyes and there are bells clinking with the wind. That’s the exact color of his kid’s eyes, the sound of twinkling bells playing in the wind.

And his smile,  _ Thor _ his smile. 

Tony’s not even sure Peter’s aware of his smile. It’s so  _ sincere _ Tony might melt onto the lab floor, it reminds him of Jarvis’ smile when Tony would show him a circuit board before dinner; so full of love and  _ wonder _ , as if he couldn’t believe his luck. 

Tony’s cheeks hurt, and he belatedly realises that he’s smiling too. And it’s the best feeling ever.

He really loves his kid. 

_ His _ kid, dammit.

And from the bone-crushing hug Peter gives him, the both of them tumbling onto the floor with Dum-E’s happy chirps behind them, Tony knows his kid loves him too.

* * *

Peter usually went to the Tower on Friday after school, and more often than not Peter is there before Tony (who’s caught up in  _ boring _ board meetings that are only bearable because he’s chatting with Rhodey and the kid on his phone). Today, there’s no school bag on the floor; no ingredients for a peanut butter sandwich on the counter; no apple juice missing from the fridge, and certainly no spiderling tinkering away in the lab.

“Friday, is Peter here yet?”

“Peter Parker has not arrived yet, Boss.”

Just when Tony was going to text Peter, his kid comes stumbling out of the elevator, no school bag. He  _ does _ have a black eye and his clothes look like they barely survived a fight with the pavement.

“Kid?”

Peter is not looking at him. He’s moving slowly, and goes to grab a school bag that’s  _ not there _ before he breaks down. His kid is trying  _ so hard _ to hold his tears, his face looks more pained than what it would have been if he had let himself cry.

The kid more often than not reminds Tony of himself, and this time he looks just like the mechanic used to when he tried not to cry in front of Howard. A horrible thought occurred to him, and he was opening his mouth to apologise for anything he may have done to hurt his kid when Peter did the same.

“I’m  _ so _ sorry.”

His kid slowly slid to the ground, hugging himself in an effort to stop the sobs racking his body. It made him look so small, like the Peter from seven years ago, skinny and sick and so  _ hurt _ by everything he could only hug himself. 

Tony was so frustrated with himself, standing so close to his kid and at the same time so  _ far _ ; the absolute  _ fear _ of hugging him made it impossible to run and engulf him in his arms. But Peter was crying, and in between sobs Tony belatedly realised that he wasn’t getting enough air in his lungs. 

That made Tony move to be beside his intern before he even realized what was going on. His knees painfully hit the floor, and while the mechanic didn’t notice, Peter did –if the way he flinched was any indication. Tony’s hands hovered over the kid’s shoulders, unsure of what to do until the spiderling leaned into him, hiding his tear-stained face on Tony’s neck.

As if his arms were magnets, he’s hugging his kid so close to his body that if they had been water drops, they would’ve merged by now (and somehow a water drops just  _ fits _ Peter, and it should be weird, but it’s not). As if drawn by that same magnet, Tony’s eyes are drawn to Peter’s flowers on his forearm, like they always do when he’s stressed or just thinks of his kid. The vibrant red color of Peter’s flowers and the cute cartoon spiderwebs calm him down better than anything else. 

Except that there’s no vibrant red color, just a dull red that looked could’ve been mistaken by brown if flowers were ever brown. Peter’s Sweet William is looking anywhere but up, the petals droopy and wrinkly like the eyes of an old man. Tony looks back at the shaking frame of his kid, then back at the flowers, and to his kid again. 

“Peter, honey-” and the nickname is new, but it rolls of his tongue and it fits  _ so well _ , “what happened?”

Peter shakes his head, pushing his brown locks even more into Tony, as if he could protect him from everything bad in the world. But Tony can’t. He  _ can’t _ .

He’ll just make everything worse for him. Even if Peter doesn’t think that.

And somehow, he’s still holding onto his kid as if his life depended on it. 

“Pete, you’ve gotta tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help you if you don’t.”

His kid took a deep breath (or at least tried to), holding onto his mentor with a little more strength than necessary, not that Tony was complaining.

“I’m- I’m sorry I’m such a burden… I probably shouldn’t be here right now, and-and I got you all covered in snot and I’m disgusting, just- I’m  _ so _ sorry.”

Tony’s mind was moving so fast he almost couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. 

“A burden? What do you mean ‘burden’, kid? You’re not any of that, never have.”

Peter kept shaking his head.

“But I am! I talk to much and I eat your food and I make your lab dirty and- and I break stuff and you have to buy me apple juice as if I was a kid, and-!”

“Peter.” Tony’s voice was soft, stern enough to interrupt his kid but nothing more than that. Inside, he was a ball of anger that felt heavy on his stomach.

“Kid, is that really you talking? Or someone else?”

Peter tries to hide his sobs, looking at Tony with eyes clouded by tears, yelling at him  _ tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you love me! Tell me you’re not ashamed of me _ , a hope hidden behind careful pessimism.  _ Please, tell me I deserve to be here. _

His kid’s eyes have no right to look so full of hope and so hopeless at the same time.  _ No right _ , and when he found out whoever was responsible for this, they would pay.

But now? Now his kid needed him.

So Tony took his kid onto his arms and carried him to the couch in the living room, not giving second thoughts to the very expensive furniture he was sure to stain. He would take all the stained furniture in the world in a heartbeat, if only to take it apart and build something that made Peter laugh. 

“Peter, I love you, okay? I love you and I  _ want  _ you here in the Tower, in the lab, in my couch while we watch Star Wars, in my kitchen when you make your peanut butter sandwiches before you leave for the night. I love you, and don’t let anybody else tell you otherwise.”

Peter wants to believe it. He really wants to.

So Tony says it again. And again. And again-

* * *

Tony forgot to tell Peter that he wouldn’t be at the lab today.

Instead, Tony kneeled in front of two tombstones in the cemetery. His hands shook as he laid a bouquet of asters in front of Jarvis. Pink, red and purple flowers meshed with the green grass that was starting to dry in the hot weather. 

The flowers, Tony thought, had no right to look as lively as they did. Not when their counterparts on Tony’s wrist and hand had browned and wilted until they barely resembled the bubbly blooms they had been once. 

Tony knew this flowers like the back of his hand ( _ ha, the back of his hand _ ), he remembered the first time he had seen them, the day he tried to make dinner for Jarvis and his wife and had almost burned their kitchen down. That night, Tony kept rubbing his wrist in amazement, tracing each flower petal with a little screwdriver that used to be under his pillow. He remembered that his mother kept an encyclopedia with flower meanings in the library, so he had taken a flashlight and some snacks, and had sneakily made his way to the Stark library.

The book said that the flowers were called asters, and that the Greek goddess Astraea had made them with her tears. One day, she had been so upset that there were so little stars on the sky that she began to cry, and every tear that touched the ground bloomed into a flower with a star-shaped head.

And Jarvis had always been his star. 

If he wanted to be cheesy, he had been a star that fell out of the sky so that Tony could hold it in his hands and give it a hug. And, like stars do, the flowers on his wrist had gone and made constellations until they covered the back of his hand in a starry sky that wasn’t blue, but tanned skin with clouds of motor oil and speckles of dust.

And the sun came out on that starry sky, until it burned the stars with a light Tony had not wanted to see, and the only reminder of the beautiful flowers they had once been was a bouquet of flowers (that still had  _ no  _ right to look so lively) in front a dead star and his wife.

Tony should have known that his kid would find him. His steps were unmistakable, a slow and calm presence Tony would recognize anywhere, even on the crunchy grass of a cemetery. 

His kid doesn’t say anything, just kneels beside him and leans on his shoulder, touching with his own the Sweet William on Tony’s forearm. Peter took his hand of burnt stars and dead constellation onto his own, with what Tony knew to be Ned’s mark on his wrist. If it had been anyone else, the mechanic might have flinched at the touch; as it was, Peter didn’t stare at the wilted flowers or at the torn bowtie from which all the constellations had once stemmed. His kid just held his hand, and it grounded him. 

They stood like that, kneeling on the grass and sweating subjects to the glaring sun of July until Tony’s joints hurt and he couldn’t feel his feet. Peter stood up first, gently tugging Tony with him and helping him stand up. The avenger had started to walk towards the exit, but his kid was not following him. Peter stood in front of Jarvis’ tombstone, and before his mentor could call out to him, the boy kneeled one last time, and placed a single sweet pea in the middle of Tony’s bouquet of asters.

_ Gratitude _

His kid certainly knew his way around flowers.

* * *

Tony was used to getting texts in the middle of the night. 

His soulmate was a highschool student that went to sleep when his hands got too tired to hold the phone in front of his face, and even then Peter sometimes left his phone on the pillow so he could keep watching vine compilations. It wasn’t unusual for his phone to ping with Peter’s tone whenever the kid sent him a meme or a text about how lobsters were mermaids to spiders. That one in particular Tony had read yesterday.

Tony was not used to getting phone calls in the middle of the night.

One look at the selfie they had taken the day Dum-E had used a fire extinguisher on them had Tony answering Peter in less than a second.

Only, it wasn’t Peter.

“Stark? Peter needs medical attention-”

This wasn’t good.

“Ned? What’s wrong with Peter? Why are you there? Where’s May?” 

Tony has to hold his phone between his neck and shoulder while he frantically puts on pants and runs to the balcony, his suit is already waiting for him. FRIDAY automatically transfers the call to the suit once Tony’s inside (and he’s grateful for his AI, he really is; but he’s more worried about his kid to think about thanking anyone).

“He got hurt, obviously! Came to my apartment with a freaking knife between his ribs. I know basic first-aid, but all I can do is stabilize him. He can’t go to the hospital, and May’s not here. You’re the only option.”

And wow, Tony had never heard Ned speaking like that. He was mad. And he was mad at  _ him _ . 

“Can you help or not, Stark? Peter’s unconscious and he needs help!” 

Tony gritted his teeth, willing the suit to go faster, faster,  _ faster!  _ His kid was in trouble dammit!

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes or less.”

Six minutes and 47 seconds later, Tony landed on Ned’s roof.

The kid was already waiting for him, Peter on his arms. Ned held his best friend as if he was china that would break if you handled it with anything other than care. Tony took his kid the same way he would have handled a delicate flower. And then he was off.

(Peter was their flower. They would not let it wilt.)

* * *

They’re both seating next to Peter. Ned is holding his hand, and Tony’s pretending to scroll through his phone (he’s been staring at his kid the whole time). The spiderling hasn’t opened his eyes since the surgery, but from what Dr. Cho’s been telling them, his condition is stable and it’s just a matter of time before he wakes up. 

Peter’s Guy in the Chair hasn’t taken his eyes off of Tony since they wheeled Peter into the room. The mechanic distinctly remembers the kid’s tone when they talked on the phone. Behind all the desperation and worry for his best friend, there had been pure, unadulterated  _ anger _ .

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

Ned scoffed, and that was answer enough. For a while, no one said anything. Peter’s heart monitor the only deafening sound in the room, a reminder that his kid was an idiot, and that Tony had almost been too late.

“I used to be your biggest fan, you know? Stark Industries posters up in my bedroom walls, newspaper articles on my desk, some (admittedly bad) drawings I made of you that I had my mother hang on the fridge… The list goes on and on. Then you became Iron Man and there were even  _ more _ posters,  _ more _ news articles; my dad bought me a shelf where I could put my Iron Man action figures… You were my hero before you were the World’s.”

Ned wasn’t looking at Tony. He was looking at the white tulips on Peter’s neck. Somehow, that made his words hurt more.

“When you gave Peter that suit… I was worried for my best friend. He was distancing himself from everyone, his aunt didn’t see him at home; I didn’t see him at school… And then one night, he crawls into his room and I’m there, angrily building a Death Star that we were meant to do together. And I may have been excited, because my best friend was a literal superhero,  _ just like Iron Man _ . He let me help him with the Vulture, he  _ saved my life _ in Washington-”

Tony’s gaze snapped up to meet Ned’s. What had happened on Washington? His kid’s best friend chuckled, and it was not a happy one.

“And you don’t even know about that. Then, you had to  _ take his suit from him _ , as if you didn’t know Peter. As if you didn’t know that he’d fight with a paper bag over his face if it meant that he could help someone. And then it’s Homecoming night, and he has to leave because there’s a man trying to steal  _ your _ plane. And I have to stay at school and help from the computer lab until I  _ can’t _ . And then his mark is burning, and I  _ know _ that he’s in pain, and I can’t help him. But  _ you _ , Stark? You could’ve helped him. You could’ve  _ been there for him _ , but you weren’t. You left us your bodyguard’s phone number and that was that. And the guy  _ wasn’t picking up. _ And I go back to Peter’s apartment, it’s the middle of the night, and he’s laying on his bed. There’s an open first-aid kit that’s almost empty, and there’s an actual empty pill bottle that had enough pain killers to kill a child!”

The kid is  _ livid _ , and yet, he doesn’t raise his voice. Tony knows that Ned knows that if any of them did, they would wake up Peter, and they don’t want that. 

And Tony’s actually  _ afraid _ of this kid. This Ned person that’s his kid’s best friend, because Tony fucked up, and he fucked up  _ bad _ . And the kid  _ knows _ , and even better than that: he won’t hesitate to call Tony out on his bullshit.

And he was not done.

“Just before he passes out on me, I find out that he’s like that because  _ a fucking building  _ fell on him. And you know what? He  _ lifted _ it. He lifted it and then went to rescue your  _ fucking plane _ . What were you doing? Drinking in your penthouse? Tinkering in your lab? And what was Happy doing? Peter could have  _ died _ that day. For all intents and purposes he  _ should _ be dead after that night. And  _ you _ could have prevented that. So  _ yeah _ , I ‘don’t like you much’. I seriously don’t know how Peter ever forgave you for that.”

But Tony can’t answer. Can’t even look at Ned.

His eyes are glued to his kid, to his neck.

And he sees the exact moment that one of the tulips loses its shine. A dull white replacing the previous stardust and sunshine on the third tulip that marked Peter’s skin.

Ned watches too.

* * *

Peter’s absolute favorite thing about Tony’s flower is the way it sparkles. More than one time, Peter’s used his tulips as a nightlight. When his room got too dark and the walls came in closer and closer --when he wasn’t in his room anymore, and instead found himself under the rubble of the warehouse.

Peter would look down, trying not to hyperventilate (and failing), and he’d see three beautiful tulips that sparkled like the night sky he saw when he visited the Compound, where there wasn’t any light pollution to keep him and Tony from admiring the stars.

The flowers shone like MJ’s favorite glitter pen, the one she used to doodle on Ned’s wrists when they were bored at the library (but History was even  _ more _ boring, so there they were). They would seat around one of the back tables with a flower encyclopedia open in the middle, and then they would find their favorite flowers. MJ’s doodles were the prettiest, and she would always do them in the glittery white pen that resembled Tony’s tulips with frightening accuracy. 

(She often complained that the ink was not really visible on his white male skin. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if she was joking)

The arc reactor his tulips stemmed from shone a light blue light that helped with the night sky feeling he got from the flowers. More than once, he had compared them to the constellations of asters on Tony’s hand. Peter often wondered if his flowers had shone just like his when Jarvis was alive.

When Peter finally woke up after his surgery, he recognized the medbay immediately, and let out a long-suffering groan. And just because he had no respect for his own well-being, tried to stand up before a calloused hand he knew too well stopped him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, kid. That was one nasty stab wound.”

Tony looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. Sure, he was known for pulling all nighters in the lab, but Peter never thought his mentor would actually spend the night by his ( _ very  _ comfortable) hospital bed, even if the chairs they had on the medbay weren’t those stiff plastic ones.

“You look like hell, Mr. Stark.”

Wow, and  _ his _ voice sounded like hell. Ouch. His poor throat. 

The mechanic handed him a glass of water that Peter gratefully gulped down.

“You don’t look much better, kid. Thank Thor that your friend called me when he did, I wouldn’t want to tell your Aunt May if something worse had happened.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Tony sighed. He couldn’t keep anything from his kid, could he?

“I had a- well, a conversation with Ned. He’s not really happy with me…”

Peter just shook his head minutely, carefully shifting so he could look Tony in the eye.

[The perfect angle for Tony to look at his tulips]

“I’m sorry for that… He’s not been your biggest fan since Homecoming…”

Tony scoffed.

“Yeah, I noticed,” then he looked down at his hands, at the Sweet Williams on his arm, “why didn’t you tell me about the warehouse, Peter? Were you ever going to tell me?”

Peter squirmed as much as he could on his hospital bed, his eyes everywhere but on Tony.

“I didn’t… plan on telling you.”

“Kid, please look at me?”

Peter did.

Tony’s eyes shone with unshed tears, and guilt. 

He had never seen his mentor like that.

“I’m  _ so sorry _ , Peter. So sorry-”

And then Tony was hugging him. It felt as if a warm blanket had been wrapped around him, with how careful the Avenger was with his wound. 

It still was one of the best hugs he’d ever had.

* * *

Ned watched from the door to Peter’s room. The mechanic’s shoulders shook with suppressed sobs, and Peter wasn’t far behind. 

He didn’t miss the way Stark held his best friend as if he was made of glass --careful, but confident.

Shaking his head, Ned closed the door.

* * *

Tony woke up to the sound of someone mumbling in the living room. 

Seeing that FRIDAY had not alerted him of any intruder, it was safe to say that either Rhodey or Peter had taken over his penthouse.

(On one memorable occasion, it had been the two of them. It had taken  _ a lot _ of cleaning to get all the pizza sauce off from the TV remote and the cushions. Tony hadn’t even wanted to ask.)

True to his hunch, Peter was pacing in the living room, mumbling things about geology and science; hitting himself on the head when he got a History question wrong. All in all, a normal study session for decathlon.

Only that it was three in the morning.

And Peter was pacing on the ceiling.

(Luckily, his kid had learnt to lose his shoes whenever he felt more of a spider than usual. Cleaning mud from the ceiling that first time had not been fun.)

“Pete, isn’t it a bit late to study for Decathlon? We went at it for four hours today, I don’t think you need to cram any more than that.”

Peter shook his head (Oh Thor, his  _ curls _ were so messed up Tony wanted nothing more than to run his hand through them; if only he was tall enough to reach the ceiling).

“Pete, come down here and I’ll help you study. You’re not even in charge of the History section, you’ll be  _ fine. _ ”

Gosh, Tony needed coffee. 

“I have to get this right, Mr. Stark. I don’t wanna die in the morning when MJ kills me for not knowing who was the Governor of Alabama in 1875.”

Tony doubted that it would be an actual question, but somehow he knew that that wouldn’t convince his kid.

“And do you  _ have _ to be on the ceiling to know that?”

Peter had the decency to blush.

“Well, not really? But…”

Tony actually snorted.

“You have five seconds to get down from there, Pete, or I’ll get the broom.”

“You don’t even  _ own _ a broom, Mr. Stark-”

Oh, so this was a challenge? Of  _ course _ he owned a broom. He was Tony Stark. 

[It was not a challenge, but at three in the morning both geniuses really had no way of knowing that.]

So Tony got the broom, and proceeded to swat at Peter until his kid let go of the ceiling and ended up on the sofa splattered like paint, his cards all over the floor.

“Well, that’s just  _ rude _ .”

For some reason, Tony couldn’t stop laughing.

[Their flowers laughed with them, chasing the other like sunflowers chasing the sun. Who knew that flowers could be happy too?]

* * *

Peter answered the winning question at their competition. It was not anything having to do with governors of Alabama.

* * *

Almost a year ago, Peter had stolen Captain America’s shield. If he was being honest, it was one of the happiest moments of his life.

Yet, he couldn’t help but think that over the past couple of days, both Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodes had been down. Their last movie night had been Big Hero 6, and Peter knew for a fact that it was his mentor’s favorite movie.

Still, none of them commented on anything and then left as soon as the movie was over.

If it had been a one time thing, maybe Peter wouldn’t be as worried as he was, but this hadn’t happened just that night. The other day, FRIDAY had suggested shawarma for dinner, and Tony had snapped at her. If she had been human, Peter didn’t want to think about what could have happened. 

He kind of expected Mr. Rhodes to be a bit isolated from everyone. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Peter noticed his winces whenever the braces whirred a little louder than normal; or his flinches whenever someone at the Tower mentioned Vision. 

Even though the braces Tony had made for him were the best he could do, there was no forgetting the fact that the Colonel had been paralyzed from the waist down, and that there were a lot of things he had difficulty doing.

Still, that didn’t explain Mr. Stark’s behavior, and Peter was determined to do everything in his power to help.

He hadn’t missed his tulips losing their usual sparkle, they now resembled an old lightbulb rather than the stars he had grown to love.

[He refused to think about the dull tulip on his skin, the one that never shone anymore. Because that tulip was his fault.]

So he asked FRIDAY for help. 

The AI was programmed to ensure Mr. Stark’s well-being, so all it took to convince FRI was telling her that his mental health was just as important before she let him watch the video feed from a file called “Siberia”.

* * *

Tony found his kid in his apartment. 

When he had first stepped inside, a part of him worried that a burglar had managed to sneak past Spider-Man, but he quickly realised that there wasn’t anything of worth missing from the Parkers’ home.

What he found was a collection of Avengers action figures, puzzles, comic books and posters laying on the ground. Drawings that had been previously living on the fridge now were torn on the floor, next to newspaper cut-outs that had been crumpled before their attacker decided that just a ball of old news was not enough of a vengeance. 

Peter was in his room. 

His kid was angrily throwing things into the trash, and Tony would’ve bet that the only reason those things were actually  _ inside _ the trash bin had more to do with Peter’s powers than anything.

Captain America was at the very bottom, his shield nowhere in sight and his head slightly askew. The Falcon was somewhere on the ground, this famous wings not to be found unless you looked under a torn newspaper cut-out of the battle of New York.

A Black Widow poster had been ripped beyond repair, the only indication of who had been there was the red hair and a belt. Hawkeye wasn’t much better, a 1000 piece puzzle of the ex-Avenger had joined Steve in the trash.

“Kid?”

Peter kept destroying precious posters and action figures with his bare hands. Tony found himself stepping on LEGO pieces that had once been part of a Quinjet on his way to the kid.

“Peter, what’s wrong?”

His kid turned to look at him, eyes wide and tears staining his cheeks. 

Not a second later, Tony found himself on Peter’s floor with an armful of crying teenager on top of him.

“How could they  _ do _ this to you?! They were your  _ family! _ All you wanted was to be accountable for your mistakes! And he almost  _ killed you-! _ ”

Oh, so that’s what had his kid all sad. He’d have to reprogram FRIDAY again. 

“He almost killed you…”

Peter started sobbing anew. Each time, Tony’s heart broke with his kid’s, and it wasn’t long before the mechanic started crying too. What had he done to deserve this kid? The one that collected comics, and posters; the one that kept is drawings and had them on the fridge, the one that took the time to put together puzzles and LEGOs just so that he could have a reminder of the things that he loved the most in his room.

The kid that did not hesitate to get rid of  _ years _ of nerding out with his best friend the minute he learned that the Avengers had hurt Tony. The kid whose flowers wilted and dulled to convey his worry, his anger, his  _ hurt _ . 

His kid. Peter.

* * *

There was a LEGO piece digging into his back, and his very expensive suit was laying on a dusty apartment floor.

Tony still stayed where he was until his kid calmed down.

And even then, he didn’t let go.

* * *

Tony was freaking out.

He knew that getting himself on the donut ship was going to be dangerous, had had no delusions that he would go back and have dinner with Pepper. But at least Peter had been safe, away from Squidward and space.

And then his kid almost got himself killed to a man that called himself Star Lord before they could even go against the aliens. Had had the  _ audacity _ of telling him that his super cool suit-making skills were the reason why he was on an alien donut ship. The nerve on this kid.

[He and his pop-culture references had been the reason there was no more Squidward to worry about, but he was not about to say that and make the kid believe that he had done a good thing.]

Tony had hated space ever since the Battle of New York.

Somehow, all that hatred seemed to disappear when he felt Peter’s flowers perk up with what could only be excitement. His kid was amazed by the great [horrifying] that was space. Distinctly, Tony could remember Peter comparing his tulips and MJ’s gladiolus to the stars, and couldn’t help but think of the fact that this was the closest his kid had ever been to the stars he loved to much.

[Tony had loved the stars. Once.]

* * *

They had a solid plan. Take the gauntlet, end the Titan, get back home for dinner.

Simple enough.

And then Star Lord had to ruin it. 

And  _ then _ , Mr. Wizard had to fuck up [again].

_ Please _ , Tony begged,  _ please let this be that one future. Please. _

People started turning into dust right in front of his eyes.

_ Please. I’m begging you, please. _

Just him and Peter remained on Titan.

_ PLEASE! _

“Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good…”

_ No, not him! Not his kid! _

Tony’s forearm burned with an intensity he had never experienced before. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt.

“You’re okay, Peter. You’re okay.”

_ Don’t take Peter, don’t take my kid-! _

“I’m sorry.”

_ Not Peter! PLEASE! NOT MY SON! _

His flowers didn’t burn anymore.

* * *

Rhodey’s chrysanthemums and Pepper’s amilbe were the only reasons he had to live now. 

Playing with Nebula helped, if only a little. She reminded him of Peter, all child-like wonder and the need to impress Tony.

[And Tony was impressed.  _ So so  _ impressed with them both.]

If he’s being honest with himself, Tony wouldn’t have minded dying in that ship. Pepper and Rhodey had each other, they would learn to move on. Ned and MJ would help May, and vice versa. They would be fine.

[That is, if they were still alive.]

And then Carol Danvers showed up to save the day. 

Tony is not sure that he wanted her to.

* * *

Of all the people waiting for him at the Compound, Steve fucking Rogers had to get to him first. And he had grown a beard, the idiot.

But Tony’s not looking at Steve. Sure, he’s panicking because the super soldier has him in his arms (and he could crush him, probably would). He’s looking at Pepper and Rhodey, and they both have a single question written across their face.

“I lost the kid.”

And that single sentence makes it all so  _ real _ .

Tony crumbles. If it hadn’t been for Steve, he would have surely been on the ground by not. 

“I lost the kid. I lost the kid. I lost the kid. I lost the kid-!”

His forearm is nothing but dead flowers. There’s no more red with a hint of white in the center. There’s no more cute cartoonish spider webs. Just a bunch of dead stems that looked on the verge of turning to dust (the  _ dust-! _ ).

Tony lost his kid. 

* * *

Somehow, all the [remaining] Avengers were crowded just outside of Tony’s hospital room. Even Clint, and they hadn’t heard from him in  _ weeks _ ; only Natasha’s mark could tell them that he hadn’t been dusted like the others. Like Peter.

The only good thing about the whole ordeal was the build-a-bear racoon laying on the floor.

“He did exactly what he said he was gonna do... Thanos wiped out… 50 percent of all living creatures.” 

Peter’s picture stared at him from the hologram. Tony couldn’t help but think that the man in the picture wasn’t his kid. The picture wasn’t smiling, the picture didn’t have sparkly flowers or brown, soft curls. They had probably taken it from his school’s records.

“Tony, I need you to focus-!”

Fuck Steve Rogers to hell and back.

“And I needed  _ you _ !”

Past tense.

“What  _ we  _ needed was a pseudo-armor around the world! Whether it impacted our  _ precious  _ freedom or not. That’s what we  _ needed. _ ”

And how had that worked out.

“I’d say we’d lose!  _ You  _ said ‘we’ll do that together, too. Guess what, Cap? We lost.  _ You _ weren’t there.”

So he ripped the arc reactor from his chest, and handed it to Steve. That’s what he had wanted last time they saw each other, now he had it.

* * *

Clint Barton had opened the doors to his home one time. Had let Tony meet his kids, had let him stay under his roof.

Now? He yelled at him.

“We lost  _ everything, _ Stark! Our families, our  _ friends _ ! I lost my  _ kids! _ And here you are, saying that Thanos took something from all of us! Bullshit! Pepper’s here, Rhodey’s here! You know  _ nothing  _ about loss!”

Tony saw red.

He stood up, right in front of Clint. 

Took the fabric covering his forearm and lifted it up for everyone to see.

The petals from the dead flowers made a little mountain near his elbow, the spider webs on top of them like an eerie reminder. The stems were nothing more than dry branches at this point.

That shut everyone up.

“His name was Peter. And he was my kid.”

For the first time since Tony met the archer, Clint stayed quiet.

* * *

The day Morgan was born was one of the happiest in his life. Rhodey and Happy had been there for him while he held Pepper’s hand through the pain.

His little girl was beautiful, and her little fingers gripped his finger with so much force he stared at her, mistified. He had smiled at her, and he hadn’t smiled back; but her eyes had stared at him as if he had hung the moon. That was enough. 

Later that night, it’s not enough. 

He’s missing one of his kids, and there’s no getting him back.

So he cries. 

And in the morning, he plays with Morgan and makes funny faces to make her laugh.

At night, he cries again.

* * *

The day they get Gerald, Tony picks up his phone and takes a picture of the llama.

**irondad:** Hey kid! Look at the new fuzzy friend!

It takes him a minute to realise that his kid is not going to answer the text.

Tony can’t look at Gerald.

* * *

Every year on August 10, Tony goes to the memorials the city made for the dusted. 

He buys ice cream on his way, and chats with the kid until he runs out of ice cream. Then looks at the mark on his arm, hoping against hope that the flowers will perk up  _ just a little _ , enough to know that he’s listening. 

His marks stays the same.

Tony goes back the next year. And the year after that.

[And the year after that.]

* * *

Tony had thought about time travel. 

He had thought about it a lot.

The only reason why he hadn’t tried to do it was the hope. He couldn’t afford to think that somehow, he could have his kid back. Because if he couldn’t do it, Tony wasn’t sure he would ever recover.

_ But _ , he figured,  _ they will definitely try do do it. And probably fail. _

Gosh, why did he still care about them? After everything they had done. He was still going to save their asses.

[He really wasn’t expecting it to work]

* * *

They had all come back with the stones. It felt weird, that the place looked exactly as they had left it, even if they had been gone for hours. 

Nebula looked shocked to see Clint and Natasha.

"What did you have to give up?"

The Archer had quietly motioned to his ears, void of the hearing aids Tony had built for the man.

[Tony was so grateful they didn't have to lose either of them. Even if he wanted to hide it, he had missed his team.]

* * *

Tony felt the  _ exact _ moment Peter came back. 

His mark had tingled the way it had done when it had first bloomed. The flowers had come back to life right in front of his eyes. The spider webs went back to their cartoonish features Tony had missed dearly. The vibrant red so distant from the horrible brown he hated so much, so lively and so  _ Peter _ that Tony almost cried.

He had his Sweet William back. 

* * *

Somehow, Thanos found them.

_ This is exactly why I didn't want to try my hand at time travel! _ Tony wanted to say. Except he would have been lying.

Be as it may, they had managed to bring everyone back. Including Thanos. Nebula took it harder than everyone else.

"He must have used me." She said, "or rather, the me from five years ago. He accessed my memories somehow. I am so sorry."

Tony took her shoulders in his hands.

"Don't you dare blame yourself."

They had a Titan to kill.

* * *

Time stopped when Tony saw his kid swing out of that portal. The same curly hair and eyes the color of chocolate that sparkled like the flowers on his skin. 

(A part of him thought that he’d have a talk with the kid about taking off his mask in public. Later,  _ much later _ .)

Peter had to battle a bunch of Thanos’ cronies to get to Tony, and Iron Man did the same. And when they finally were close enough, they hugged.

There was a battle raging around them,Thanos’ men fell, but so did their own. The earth rumbled with earthquakes that weren’t there, the ground flooded with water until it was muddy and hard to fight. There was a very real chance that they wouldn’t make it.

And still, none of that mattered when they hugged. Their bodies were covered in nanites and injuries, dust settled over their skin like a very uncomfortable blanket, and both of them were so  _ tired _ .

But he had his kid back. He had his red flowers back and he would make sure that they stayed that way. Peter’s flowers sparkled on his skin, Tony’s Sweet Williams chased his face as if he was the sun, and everything was going to be alright.

Tony kissed his kid’s forehead, and things were going to be okay.

* * *

“And I… am Iron Man.”

Peter had never felt more scared in his life. Sure, Washington, the ferry and the Vulture were very scary, nevermind being dusted in Titan (less than 30 minutes ago and somehow longer than that). 

But Tony was invincible. The man simply didn’t give up, always found a way to gain the upper hand in a fight, always managed to come  _ back to Peter _ .

But when he felt the tulips on his neck burn and fade into nothing more than dead flowers, Peter felt scared. He had just gotten his father back, and he was losing him  _ all over again _ .

“Tony. Tony-!”

He wanted to punch Rhodey in the face, get Pepper off his back. His dad was _ dying _ .

_ Why would you snap? WHY? _

It wasn’t until FRIDAY told them that Tony needed immediate medical attention that Peter felt hope.

His dad may be in a coma. (His tulips may be dry)

But he was alive.

* * *

Wednesday became Tony days. 

After school, Peter would go straight to the medbay and hold Tony’s hand while Pepper rested and spent the day with Morgan. In the mornings, he would shower before heading to school.

He liked to tell Tony about his day. 

“May cooked this  _ really horrible _ thing that was supposed to be pasta-!”

“MJ doodled on my hand today. See? They’re daisies, she told me they were for you. They mean ‘get well’. She even used her pink glitter pen!”

“Ned surprised me with chocolates today! We had a scare actually… see, mint chocolate used to be my favorite, but  _ apparently  _ spiders are not really fond of peppermint....”

“We have this new teacher for Spanish class, she’s from Dominican Republic! And she’s super cool! I never knew that Spanish actually sounded like  _ that _ . It was so pretty-!”

Not once did Tony answer. The beeping of the heart monitor and the ventilator the only things Peter could hear in the empty room.

* * *

“My Decathlon team is going on a trip to Europe tomorrow. I’m actually hoping to take MJ and Ned out for dinner at the Eiffel Tower, she’ll say it’s cheesy, but we know she secretly loves it. Wish me luck!”

* * *

Tony woke up on a Wednesday.

(Peter wasn’t there.)

Morgan gave her dad the biggest hug she could possibly give him, and called for her mommy and her Uncle Rhodey and her Uncle Happy.

(Morgan didn’t call for her brother.)

The other Avengers came to visit at least once, and Tony would tell no-one but Pepper, but Steve, Sam and Bucky were amazing together, and someone had to knock some sense into anyone so they could have a wedding soon. It had been a long time coming.

Still no Peter.

* * *

Alone in his room, working on physical therapy for his prosthetic arm, Tony stared at his chest.

After losing his arm, Tony’s marks had started to move to his left. Slowly, like snails, they moved from his chest to their respective places on his other arm. Right now, Pepper’s was very close to its original place on his shoulder, Rhodey’s separate stems made funny lines on his clavicle (Morgan liked to say that they were lines from a treasure map). 

Peter’s flowers were almost in the middle of his chest, leaning towards the left and making their way to Tony’s forearm.

Tony had never seen his kid’s flowers like this before. 

They were squished, as if they had been held in the fist of someone that cared nothing about the fragile petals, the spiderwebs wrapped around the blooms like a veil that covered them in an eerie shadow reminiscent of a horror movie.

He had not seen his kid once since waking up.

Tony had phoned May, Ned, even MJ. Everyone told him the same thing: Peter was not ready to see him.

Happy told him the same thing when he caught Tony hanging up on another failed conversation with May. His forehead of security had spilled the beans and Tony did not like it one bit.

Sparing a last glance to Peter’s mark, Tony made up his mind.

He needed to see his kid.

* * *

Tony knocked on the door to the Parkers’ (new) apartment after getting the address from Ned. Nobody opened the door, but the mechanic let himself in with a key May had given him for emergencies on her last visit to the medbay. 

The apartment resembled their old one in Queens, with the pictures Peter took of his family and friends hanging from every available space on the wall. The Iron Man action figures and the puzzle with Bruce’s face on their place on top of a shelf.

Peter’s room had the door open.

“Kid? Are you here?”

Peter turned to look at him with so much  _ fear _ in his eyes Tony had to stop on his tracks.

“Stay away from me!” 

His kid curled onto himself, his scrawny arms engulfing him in a pathetic attempt at a hug.

“Kid, it’s me! It’s Tony-!”

He tried to take a couple of steps towards his kid, but he just backed away.

“NO! I said stay away! You’re not real! I won’t fall for your illusions again, Beck!”

This was  _ exactly _ what Happy had warned him about.

Tony tried to take his kid’s hands on his own. And he succeeded.

Mostly.

“Don’t touch me! Please don’t touch me, Skip. I don’t wanna play. I don’t wanna play,  _ please _ don’t make me play. I don’t like the touching, please  _ don’t- _ !”

Tony let go of Peter’s hands as if they burned.

(They did)

“Peter, it’s  _ me _ . It’s Tony. Look at me,  _ please _ look at me.”

His kid did, his eyes darting around the room, focused on things Tony couldn’t see.

His heart broke.

“How do I know it’s you? How do I know it’s not some illusion?”

Tony crouched to make himself appear smaller.

“Well, I know you’re the only person that’s seen me recite Big Hero 6 word for word. You’ve cried with me when we watch it for movie night. There’s this soft blanket you really like, the one that has little stars on it? And I would drape it over you when you fell asleep _right_ _before_ the sad part of the movie…”

Before he could even finish his (very embarrassing) story, Peter leapt at him and engulfed him in his arms.

“ _ Mr. Stark-!” _

* * *

Peter was nowhere near okay. There were days when he wouldn’t talk to him at all, or days when he’d wake up in the middle of the night to Peter calling him. Checking that Tony was still alive.

Tony didn’t have his son back. Not yet, not completely.

But he would.

And that had to be enough for now.

* * *

Tony often wondered why his soulmark was a white tulip.

He wasn’t worthy. 

Not worthy of his family, not of his business. Certainly not of love.

But everyone that loved him would tell him otherwise.

No one would do a complete 180 on his company after finding out they sold weapons.

No one would make their partner CEO of their company.

No one would join a group of heros and save the world. More than once.

No one would try to be held accountable for their mistakes.

No one spared the life of the man that had killed his parents.

No one built braces so that their best friend could walk again.

No one gave an internship to a kid just so he wouldn’t be bullied at school.

No one bought a llama for his daughter.

No one sacrificed his own life and the chance to live with his family for the Universe.

Apparently, Tony did.

* * *

White tulips. 

Worthiness.

He didn’t really get  _ why _ white tulips.

But, Tony figured, he didn’t have to.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr as @canonismybitch!
> 
> FLOWER MEANINGS AND PLACES ON A PERSON
> 
> On Peter
> 
> May: a lilac whreat that’s on Peter’s ankle and with reading glasses leaning on the stems. Humility, charity, family.
> 
> Ned: a peruvian lily bouquet with gold sparkles on the petals; it’s on Peter’s wrist, held together with computer cables and with a single LEGO piece that changes color depending on Ned’s emotions. Friendship and devotion.
> 
> MJ: A single white/silver gladiolus with six buttons that sparkles, acts as a bookmark to one of her sketchbooks which has a black dahlia doodled on the cover; it’s on Peter’s ear. Strength of character.
> 
> Tony: A bouquet of white tulips that bloom from an arc reactor on Peter’s neck. Worthiness.
> 
> On Everyone Else
> 
> May: Peter’s Sweet William is on her right wrist as a bracelet.
> 
> Ned: Peter’s Sweet William is on his right ankle (and then almost covers his lower leg) as a bouquet.
> 
> MJ: Peter’s Sweet William is on her right hip as a bouquet.
> 
> Tony: Peter’s Sweet William is on his forearm as a bouquet
> 
> Extra Flowers
> 
> Ben: a bouquet of arbutus held together by a police badge that used to be on May’s shoulder. Protection.
> 
> Pepper: a bouquet of amilbe the same color as her hair on Tony’s shoulder. Patience and dedication to a loved one.
> 
> Rhodey: five chrysanthemums, one per finger on Tony’s right hand. Fidelity, loyal love, hope, and cherished friendship.
> 
> Jarvis: a bunch of asters that stem from a bowtie on Tony’s wrist, they grow from his wrist and onto the back of his hand forming constellations that are connected by the stems. Wisdom, undying devotion, sensitivity, and love.


End file.
